Burnt to Ashes
by gypsywriter135
Summary: Francis and Gilbert talk things out after WWII, and Francis sees a side of his old friend that he never thought existed.


Happy Valentine's Day!

Enjoy this unedited, not-proofread, written in a day, most likely historically inaccurate, sad and angsty story!

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.**

* * *

><p>Francis' head snapped up, his pacing coming to a stop as the door to the room opened. His blue eyes caught the red of his old friend, being led in by Arthur, cuffed wrists in front of him as he walked. Gilbert gave him a small smirk as the Briton steered him to the single chair that sat not to far in front of the Frenchman. He made the Prussian sit down, undid his restraints, only to bind them once more behind the chair once the albino was settled.<p>

Gilbert sighed. "You don't even give a guy a chance, do you?"

Arthur simply glared in response, to which the captive man grinned. "You're lucky that we're allowing this," he snapped, shifting his gaze to Francis. "I don't want this to go on for too long. Ivan and I will be waiting outside."

Francis nodded. Arthur turned to Gilbert and leaned down, poking him in the chest. "No funny business," he growled.

"Of course not," Gilbert agreed, the hint of a small smile still on his face.

Giving him one last glare, Arthur headed back across the room and to the door. He quickly opened it and slipped through, letting it close softly behind him. Francis chanced a look at Gilbert.

The younger man was gazing thoughtfully at him. "I don't suppose that you would untie me, would you?"

Francis fidgeted and glanced away.

"Yeah, I didn't think so."

It was silent for a moment, at which Francis gathered his courage to look back at Gilbert. The Prussian was taking in the room curiously, red eyes roaming over the tall windows, the huge bookcases with stacks of heavy books, the small tables with vases filled with colorful flowers.

"You'll never make it," Francis told him.

Gilbert looked at him, cocking his head to the side. "Make what?" he asked innocently.

"If you even try to escape, the fall would wound someone as weak as you are right now. The Allies would be on you in seconds. Besides, the chair's nailed to the ground with nails so strong that not even Alfred would be able to break it free."

A small chuckle left Gilbert. "What makes you think that I'd try to get away?"

"Because I know you," Francis snapped.

"Ah, yes. Well, if you know me so well, then you should also know that had I wanted to escape, I'd be long gone by now," Gilbert drawled, looking bored. "Sending one man down to a dark cellar alone to retrieve a prisoner such as myself wasn't really the brightest of your ideas."

Francis blinked. He knew it was true. Gilbert was a crafty son-of-a-bitch; if he wanted to, he could have easily overtaken Arthur's power, even as weak as he was, and slipped out long before the alarm would have been sounded.

Which brought him to the current situation.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Francis asked, turning around and facing the window so that his back was to Gilbert.

"It's a bit chilly down in that cellar," Gilbert said. Francis let his eyes slip shut in frustration as he slowly counted to ten in his head. "Think we could get a few blankets? And maybe a pillow or two. The cement really isn't the softest and-"

"Do you honestly have no idea how much trouble you're in?" Francis hissed loudly, spinning on his heel to face the other nation. Gilbert blinked. "You're in no mood to be making jokes, so why don't you take this seriously for once in your life!"

Gilbert held Francis' gaze for a long, silent moment. "You're angry," he finally said.

Francis glared at him. "No shit!" He began pacing once more, Gilbert following his movements with his eyes. "You and your brother basically tore Europe apart, and you're sitting here in front of me acting like it's no big deal! People died, Gilbert! Hundreds of thousands of innocent people and you make jokes!"

He continued to pace, angered gaze on his feet. He could feel Gilbert watching him.

"It's not like we haven't killed people in the past," Gilbert said quietly.

"That's completely different!" Francis exclaimed. "When we've killed before, it was because of grudges, or internal fighting! We killed soldiers because they were the enemy and we needed to survive! What you and Ludwig did…" he trailed off. "Gilbert, that's not killing… that's mass murder."

"I heard they're calling it 'genocide' now," Gilbert corrected.

"Whatever it is, it's terrible!" Francis snarled.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders as best he could. "It's not any different than what you did in your French Revolution."

"Of course it is!" How could Gilbert honestly compare the two! "That's like saying apples and oranges are the same thing! They are both two different fruits!"

"Ah, but they're both fruits, ja?"

Francis blinked, frowining.

Gilbert offered him a somber grin. "Innocent people got hurt and killed for no reason. It's horrible, I'll admit, but we learn from our mistakes and move on. Hitler is dead. There's not much more you can do. West surrendered. The war is over and you won."

Francis slumped against the window tiredly. The cool glass felt good on the hot of his back. "Then why doesn't it feel like it?" he asked softly.

"Because you feel the people that you lost are still hurting, and will be for long after they are dead."

Blue eyes rose to meet red, and the two stared at each other.

"You're strangely calm about this entire thing," Francis said slowly, eyes narrowing.

Gilbert hummed thoughtfully. "Is that so?" He turned his head to look at his reflection in the window next to him.

The blonde took this opportunity to study the other nation. The Prussian was still in his blue uniform, which was ripped and torn in several places. Blood was splattered in a few places, and Francis wasn't sure if it were his own or someone else's. A large gash was bleeding through the white bandage that wrapped around his head. His normally snow white hair was tinged with dirt and grime, turning it a dusty brown color.

It was a little odd, Francis mused to himself. As nations, any physical injuries that they received were quick to heal. It was curious that for the amount of time that Gilbert and Ludwig were down in the cellar, Gilbert's wounds had still not healed.

"I'm not a stranger to war," Gilbert said, snapping Francis from his thoughts. The man was still staring out the window as he spoke. "I suppose that's the whole reason that this isn't making me squirm. West, on the other hand, is freaking out down there. He's such a naïve boy when it comes to things like these." He turned his gaze to Francis. "I don't suppose that you'll let him go with simply a slap on the wrist like last time?"

"Absolutely not," Francis growled. "What he did was-"

"Ja, ja. It was unforgivable, I get it," Gilbert replied dismissively. "We've all done some unforgivable things in our lifetimes, haven't we?"

Francis was suddenly attacked with images of himself as he withdrew his sword from a small blonde boy's body as Gilbert's agonized scream echoed in his ears.

To this day, he couldn't ever look Feliciano completely in the eyes without immense guilt overfilling him for killing the one that he had loved so deeply…

He shook his head, glaring at Gilbert, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"What're you getting at?" he asked.

"I'm just saying that through everything that has ever happened, we've all been able to push aside the past and move forward. What makes this any different?"

"Because what Ludwig did those Jews was horrible!" Francis cried.

"And what Alfred did to Kiku wasn't?" Gilbert snapped, eyes flashing, causing Francis to take a step backwards. "How is what he did any different from what West and I did?"

"He didn't have a choice after what Kiku did to him!"

"Hawaii's not even a state of Alfred's!"

"It was his naval base! His people died in that attack!"

"And Kiku's died in Alfred's attack!"

"If Kiku hadn't initiated the attack then Alfred wouldn't have had to strike back!"

"Putting all that aside," Gilbert growled lowly, "what I'm actually talking about is taking all those Japanese-Americans and putting them in camps in his own fucking country!"

"Hey!"

Francis whipped his head up and Gilbert awkwardly shifted a bit to turn his head around to look at Arthur, who was inching into the room.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked, green eyes landing on Gilbert, who rolled his eyes.

"Just having a little chat," the albino replied. "No need to – fuck, what do you call it… oh, yeah – get your panties in a twist!"

Arthur glared at him, then glared at Francis. "Hurry it up, will you?" he barked, then retreated back behind the door.

The Frenchman ran a tired hand down his face and took a deep breath.

"This is a nice room."

The absurdity of the statement made Francis stare at Gilbert, who was once more looking around the room.

"Excuse me?" the blonde asked, perplexed.

"It's a little bland for my tastes," Gilbert continued, taking in the wallpaper, "but I suppose that everyone is allowed their own style." He squinted at the bookshelves, trying to take in some of the titles from his chair. "Damn… can't read them without my glasses…"

That was a shock. "Since when do you need glasses?" Francis asked, brow furrowing. As nations, the only time that they needed glasses was when it was a part of their country, or because they simply enjoyed wearing them. Not because they actually _needed_ them.

Gilbert shrugged, head coming back forward to look at the blonde. "About a decade or so," he said. "Mostly just for reading, but I've noticed that I actually see a bit better with them on than not."

"Then how come you're not wearing them now?"

"I don't really like to wear them."

Silence.

"Gilbert, why did you ask to talk with me?" Francis asked when the staring became too much for him.

"Antonio came to visit me a while ago," Gilbert stated.

Francis felt a headache coming on. "I am well aware of that," he responded, massaging his temples.

"Said that Lovino and Feliciano were getting off easy."

Antonio always did have a big mouth. "What else did he tell you?"

"A few other things…" Gilbert hummed, flicking his eyes away to the bookshelf again. "How come you never come down to visit me?"

"Because I can't," Francis sighed, avoiding Gilbert's gaze when he turned to look back on him. They both knew it was a lie.

Gilbert snorted. "That's not what I was saying, arschloch."

"Then what _were_ you saying, Gilbert?" Francis exclaimed. "For once, could you please just come out and say what you mean instead of simply trotting around the subject until the other person brings it up?"

The Prussian glared at him. "You know exactly what I'm saying!" he snapped. "You have known me for centuries, so I know for fact that everything I say, or don't say, comes in loud and clear for you!"

"I've never liked this dance that you pull!" Francis replied, returning the glare. "Just tell me what you want to say!"

"Fine! I want to know why you haven't set a single foot in that fucking cellar!"

"I already told you, I'm not allowed to!"

"I'm not talking about the personification of France! I'm talking about my friend! I'm talking about Francis!"

The blonde took a step back, shocked. Gilbert continued to glare at him, and Francis could see the tiredness reflected in his eyes. He should have looked there earlier; while Gilbert may have mastered the art of body language eons ago, his eyes could never quite hide what he was trying to say.

And right now, they were saying that he needed his friend.

Sighing, Francis let his shoulders droop. He ran a tired hand through his hair and glanced up to meet Gilbert's eyes.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered. "I… I should have at least visited once but-"

"Stop with the sap," Gilbert interrupted him, leaning back in his chair, turning his head but keeping eye contact. Francis could see the acceptance in them.

Francis allowed a small smile to grace his face. "Of course," he chuckled. He took a step forward to lean against an end table.

Comfortable silence encased the room for a few minutes before it was broken.

"So… yelling at me for not visiting you can't be why you requested this little meeting," Francis said.

"Ah, but what if it was?" Gilbert smirked, turning to look at him. "What if this was all just a clever ruse as a distraction? West could be exercising his escape plan as we speak."

"Because he would never leave you here while he got away," Francis chuckled.

Gilbert looked affronted. "I could very well execute my own daring escape afterwards."

"By taking out Arthur, Alfred and Ivan all on your own?"

"Your lack of faith wounds me."

Francis laughed. "How would you do it?"

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you, my dear friend."

"So you've already worked the cuffs off, then?"

"…Gimme a few more minutes…"

"Sure thing, Gil."

Silence enveloped them once more.

"Antonio looked well," Gilbert was the one to break it this time.

Francis nodded. "Oui," he agreed softly. He had hardly spent any time with his old friend when the Spaniard came to visit.

More silence.

"He told me what you guys were planning on doing," Gilbert said quietly.

Francis looked away.

"Oui…" he murmured. "It was Alfred who had suggested it."

"And why'd you agree to it?" Gilbert asked, eyes narrowing.

"Because this war was terrible, Gilbert!" Francis snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Ja, you've said it before!" Gilbert exclaimed. "But other wars were terrible too! What makes this one so different!"

"World War One was supposed to be the war to end all wars," Francis cried. "We let Ludwig off light with that one! And in response he has this war instead!"

"So you're just going to get rid of him?"

"We have no other choice!" Francis met his friend's eyes and the two glared at each other. "You don't understand! This war… it's scared us. All of us…" his voice trailed off towards the end.

Gilbert snorted. "If you think you're scared, think of how West and I feel."

Francis blinked and Gilbert turned his head to the side, refusing to make eye contact.

"I… I guess we never thought of that…" he said softly.

The albino snorted. "Figures."

Francis let his eyes close. "Gilbert… we all agreed that something drastic needed to be done. When Alfred suggested that we dissolve Germany… well… we couldn't say no."

"That American is young. What makes you think his ideas have merit?"

"Because he is so young," Francis insisted, opening his eyes. "Even if the rest of us eventually die, it's the younger nations that will carry on our legacy."

"So what does that make West?" Gilbert asked quietly.

Francis blinked. He didn't know how to answer that.

Gilbert closed his eyes and tipped his head back, sighing deeply. "I have a proposition for you," he said, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling.

"Gilbert, I can't-"

The Prussian's head snapped up, eyes pleading. "Francis, just listen."

Francis nodded, mouth snapping shut.

Gilbert took a deep breath. "Instead of killing Ludwig…" Francis couldn't help but notice the absence of the younger's nickname. "Take me in his place…"

The blonde's eyes flew wide and he gasped. "What?" he whispered.

"Kill me instead," Gilbert repeated. "Dissolve Prussia. But leave Germany… leave Ludwig alive."

"Gilbert, I... I can't do that…"

"Why?"

Francis couldn't help the wince that was the result of his friend's broken voice.

"Because Alfred-"

"Fuck Alfred!" Gilbert cried. "You are your own person, your own country! Fight this! You have a mind of your own, and you can use it to stop this!"

"We all agreed!" Francis argued. "We agreed that Germany had to pay! He's the one who started this whole thing in the first place!"

"There were so many other factors that contributed to that and you know it!" Gilbert exclaimed. "Hitler was Austrian, not German! So why isn't Austria being punished?"

"Because he-"

"Why the fuck am I not being punished?"

"Gilbert, you-"

"Francis, please!" Gilbert's eyes were pleading. "I can't… I can't let him die…"

_I can't lose another brother._

The blonde felt a lump rise to his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. "Why?" he croaked. He fought the warmth behind his eyes. "Why are you sacrificing yourself for Ludwig?"

Gilbert's eyes locked on his. "He's my baby brother," he whispered. "I swore to myself that I wouldn't let anything happen to him…"

"We break promises all the time!" Francis objected. "What makes this any different? After all he's done to you, why don't you want revenge? His leader practically killed you!"

"Because I'm already dying, Francis…"

Tense silence. "What?" Francis breathed.

Crimson eyes never left him. "You know exactly what I mean," Gilbert told him. "I mean, just look at me. I should be completely healed by now, but I'm still bleeding from this head wound. I have a cold that has nothing to do with my people or economy. I need to glasses to see and read. Since when do we nations have to deal with those ailments that aren't a part of our country?"

Francis closed his eyes, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"Francis, please," Gilbert's voice cut to his heart as he listened to the desperate tone.

"Gil, no," he choked, bringing up a hand to cover his eyes as a few tears slipped out.

"Francis, I'm not asking this on behalf of Germany or Prussia," Gilbert said softly. Wiping his hand down his face to rid his cheeks of moisture, Francis locked his blue eyes onto Gilbert's. "I'm asking this as a favor from one friend to another." Gilbert closed his own eyes briefly before taking a breath and looking pleadingly at the blonde. "Please don't kill my brother…"

Francis crossed the distance between them in a few strides and straddled the bound man's waist. He let his forehead rest against the Prussian's pale one, hands resting firmly on the other's shoulders as their eyes locked.

"Gil, you're one of my best friends…" Francis whispered, refusing to break their gaze.

"I know," Gilbert replied just as softly.

"You're asking me to help kill you."

"I know…"

The two sat in silence. Francis reached a hand up to gently cup Gilbert's face. The Prussian leaned into the touch.

"Have you told Ludwig about this?"

Gilbert shook his head. "He doesn't even know what your plans are."

"I could tell him, you know," Francis warned, trying to get his friend to see reason. "Stop this whole nonsense."

"But you won't," Gilbert insisted. They both knew it was true.

"I could do it to Austria instead."

"Elizaveta would never let that happen."

"I'll could get Antonio and he'd put a stop to this."

"He might."

"I could say no."

"You could."

"Dammit, Gil!" Francis cried desperately. "Why?"

Gilbert gave him a small smile. "I'm tired," he sighed. "I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of pretending to be fine when it's obvious that I'm not. This war took something from all of us. It took our people. It took Alfred's innocence. It took Ivan's sanity. It took Kiku's strength. It took Arthur's control. It took West's purity. It took your elegance. It took so many other's will. And it's taken my awesomeness and thrown it to the dogs."

Francis said nothing.

"I'm not the nation I once was," Gilbert continued. "I've been beaten. I've had the rug torn from under me one too many times. And as hard as it is for me to say that, you and I, fuck, the whole world, knows that it's true. Why else would Hitler do what he did? He saw I was falling.

"All great empires fall. Rome, the Holy Roman Empire, hell, Antonio, and Arthur; marriages fail, treaties are broken, old disputes are rekindled, and nations rise and fall. It's only a matter of time of when."

The blonde let out a hollow chuckle. "When did you get so wise, mon ami?"

Gilbert gave him a sad grin in return. "Comes with the terrority."

"Didn't you always say you were going to go out with a bang?" Francis bargained, trying to change his friend's mind. "In the heat of battle, guns blazing?"

"Aye," Gilbert confirmed. "But just because I want to doesn't mean that it'll happen. Besides, if I'm going to die anyways, I'd rather it be for a good cause and on my own terms."

The two sat like that for several minutes, gazes locked.

"Francis, I may have come to France for help when it's been needed," Gilbert whispered. "But I have never asked you for a favor in the entire time that I've known you. Please. Just do this one thing for me."

"What would I even say?" the blonde asked.

Gilbert shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Tell them it was really me who did all that and West was just the front man. Say I brainwashed him from the time he was a child. Convince them the whole thing was my idea. I don't care; just do whatever you have to to get them to agree…"

Lump forming once more, Francis closed his eyes, trying to control himself.

"I'll see what I can do…" he murmured.

He felt the Prussian relax under him, and when he opened his eyes, Gilbert's own were filled with a gratitude that Francis had never seen the likes of before. He pressed a small, chaste kiss to the albino's forehead and looked in those crimson eyes once more before he crawled off Gilbert's lap and walked to the door. He knocked a few times on it.

Arthur opened it after a pause and glared at him. "Are you two finally finished?" he asked.

"Oui," Francis affirmed quietly. "You may take him back downstairs. When you are finished, please take Ivan, find Alfred and Yao, and meet me in the conference room."

A thick eyebrow rose in curiosity. "What for?"

"Just do it," Francis snapped, shoving the door open the rest of the way. Ivan came striding in and Arthur blinked before narrowing his eyes and walking back to Gilbert. They undid his cuffs briefly to get him out of the chair before they were reapplied in front of him once more. With a strong hand on his shoulder, Ivan led their captive across the room.

Gilbert's mask was instantly back in place in the presence of the others.

"Aw, Artie. Can't you give a guy a break? My wrists hurt."

Francis held the door open as the trio walked by, looking intently at the floor.

"They aren't that tight," Arthur groaned.

"I have delicate hands," Gilbert huffed.

"I'll show you what's delicate," Arthur muttered.

"Oh, sounds like a challenge."

"I hardly think you are in a position to challenge someone," Ivan interjected.

"Wasn't talkin' to you, you stupid fat ass," Gilbert said cheerily. Right before they rounded the corner, Gilbert pulled up short and called back to the Frenchman, who was frozen temporarily to the spot. "Oh, and Francis? Let's keep this little conversation between the two of us, ja?"

Francis snapped his head up to catch Gilbert's small, hopeful smirk before Arthur growled and shoved him around down the hall and out of sight.

000000000000000

It had taken everything Francis had in his arsenal to convince the rest of the Allies to blame Prussia for the war. The tale he wove was so elaborate that even the best authors and storytellers would be jealous. He had resisted the urge to use the mountains of blackmail he had on all of them, but then they would just be suspicious; that wasn't how Francis wanted the whole affair to happen.

He needed the others to believe that what they were doing was for the good of the world and not because they were forced.

Nearly a week after Francis and Gilbert had their little meeting, the Frenchman found himself sitting at the end of the long table overlooking the two German brothers. Both of them had been brought in almost two hours ago and had been questioned and accused for the majority of that time.

Gilbert was, naturally, taking it all in stride.

"We've been over this a million times already," he droned, looking quite bored where he sat slumped next to Ludwig. "We both killed lots of people, we're sorry, blah blah blah."

"You've got some nerve talking like that," Arthur snapped from beside Francis.

"Yeah!" Yao cried from the other end of the table. "Considering it was your fault that this whole thing was your fault to begin with!"

Francis saw Ludwig gape, then turn to his brother, who looked briefly relieved before masking it expertly. His eyes fell on Francis in gratitude and then snapped back to the American. He waved a hand lazily in the air.

"Ja, ja," he drawled. "Big whoop. What're you gonna do about it?"

"Bruder, what are they talking about?" Ludwig stage-whispered to Gilbert.

"Quiet, West."

"But I was the one-"

"I said shut up," Gilbert hissed, glaring at Ludwig. The tall blonde's mouth snapped shut and he glance away.

Alfred was leaning over to talk in hushed tones with Arthur, who nodded. The teen then leaned to his other side to quietly converse with Ivan. After a few minutes, Alfred nodded and sat straight in his chair.

"So, Gilbert," he addressed, eyes falling on the man in question.

"That's my name," Gilbert smirked.

"We have reason to believe that you influenced Ludwig into starting the war. Is this true?"

"Now why would you think that?" Gilbert asked. Francis knew that simply agreeing would arouse suspicion, but he was still hoping that the others would come to their senses and realize that this whole thing was utterly ridiculous.

"Where we get our information from is none of your concern," Ivan told him.

"Haven't you ever heard the term 'sharing is caring'?" Gilbert smirked.

A sinister smile crept upon Ivan's face. "Da, I have. And that is just what we plan on doing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ludwig piped up, his face a mixture of trepidation and fear.

"You are the loser of a great war, Ludwig," Yao commented. "You're old enough to know what happens to the losing team."

Francis could see Ludwig's agitation, and didn't blame the poor boy. He knew very well what happened when someone lost the war, but the way that the Allies were talking, he knew that something was about to happen…

Something that he wouldn't like.

Hell, Francis didn't like it; he didn't understand how Gilbert was okay with this! He was going to die, and there he was, sitting as though he owned the place!

_He's doing it for love_, Francis internally sighed.

Gilbert loved Ludwig. He had raised the boy, and Ludwig had brought light to Gilbert's dark world. The two of them were thick as thieves, and sometimes, Francis thought that Gilbert's love for his little brother was on such a completely different level from anyone else's, that not even Arthur and Alfred's relationship could compare.

"So do you confirm or deny the influence of a younger country to do your bidding?" Alfred interjected.

At the same time Gilbert cheerfully called out "confirm," Ludwig shouted, "deny!"

Francis' felt his breath hitch and Gilbert glared at his younger brother.

"Well?" Yao said. "Which is it?"

"I did it!" Gilbert insisted, but the younger German was stubborn.

_Wonder where he got that trait…._

"Nein!" Ludwig disagreed. "It was me! I-"

"West!" the Prussian growled. "Don't be stupid! It was me!" he told the Allies.

"Bruder, no!" Ludwig shook his head. "I can't let you take the bl-"

Gilbert snapped his arm back and roughly cuffed the blonde on the back of the head. Stunned, more by the shock than pain, Francis knew, Ludwig blinked as Gilbert grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged on it. Ludwig squawked as he was forced lower in his chair, Gilbert leaning over slightly to whisper something in his ear.

"Excuse me," Arthur snapped, looking quite disproving. "We're trying to have a meeting here."

"Shut that hole in your mouth before I do it for you," Gilbert warned, glaring at the Briton. He turned back to muttering in Ludwig's ear.

That wasn't the smartest move to make, Francis noted. But he supposed that if he was trying to get on the Allies' bad side, he was doing a job well done.

His thought was only proved correct when Alfred stood up angrily and slammed his hands on the long table. "That's it! No more deliberation! Gilbert of Prussia, what is your answer?"

Gilbert pulled back, seeming to be finished speaking to Ludwig, who just looked confused. He asked the blonde one more question, in German, of course, and Ludwig nodded. Gilbert nodded once and then turned to the Allies.

"I confirm that I influence the personification of Germany into starting this war," he affirmed.

"And your plea on having taken part in murder of innocent citizens?" Alfred asked.

"Guilty."

Francis felt his heart drop.

"Invasion of neighboring countries?"

"Guilty."

Gilbert's voice was steady, but Francis had known him long enough to hear the fear underneath it.

"Harassment of the personifications of those countries?"

"Guilty."

Oh, God, he was actually going to do it.

"Do you, Gilbert Beilschmidt, the personification of the country of Prusssia, take on full responsibility for the start, causes, and effects of what will forever be known as World War Two?"

_Gilbert, please… reconsider!_

"_He's my baby brother… I swore to myself that I wouldn't let anything happen to him."_

"Guilty."

And that was the nail in coffin.

Alfred nodded and sat back down. He shuffled a few papers in front of him before picking up a pen and scribbling on the one on top. He passed it to Ivan and Yao, then Arthur and, finally, Francis.

"Law Number Forty-Six," sat at the top of the page. At the bottom were the other Allies' signatures, the only empty space left for himself.

"In accordance with the agreement of the Allies," Alfred was saying.

Francis picked up the pen in front of him and began to write him name.

"…as well as the support of our leaders…"

Francis paused and looked up, catching Gilbert's watching red eyes.

"…hereby decree…"

Gilbert nodded once.

"…that as of today…"

Francis finished his name.

"…The Prussian State, which from early days has been a bearer of militarism and reaction in Germany, has de facto ceased to exist."

Francis let his eyes slip close.

There was silence for a moment before the information seemed to sink into Ludwig's head. "What…?" he muttered. His eyes widened. "Nein… NEIN!"

Alfred continued. "Guided by the interests of preservation of peace and security of peoples, and with the desire to assure further reconstruction of the political life of Germany on a democratic basis, the Control Council enacts as follows: Article 1. The Prussian State together with its central government and all of its agencies is abolished."

Tears were streaming down Ludwig's face, and Francis could feel that damned lump returning to his throat.

"Nein! You can't do that!" Ludwig cried. He made to stand up, but Gilbert, eyes fixated on the sandy-haired teen in front of them, caught his arm and forced him back to his seat.

"Germany will be divided," Arthur said. "West Germany will have three sectors under the control of Alfred, Francis, and myself."

"This isn't right!" Ludwig cried.

"East Germany will be under the control of the Soviet Union," Arthur continued.

"Please!" Ludwig begged. His eyes swept over the Allies, and Francis had to force himself to not turn away. "This isn't right!"

"West… calm down…"

Ludwig slumped in his seat and turned an agonized eye to his older brother. Gilbert gave him a confident, sad grin.

"Looks like your nickname really fits you now, huh?" the albino chuckled softly.

"No…" Ludwig whimpered. "No, bruder… let me go with Ivan. You can-"

Gilbert shook his head. "West, I can't," he muttered. He shot a look to Francis before focusing again on his brother. "It's already been decided. Besides, I'm already dissolved. I wouldn't survive being torn any more than I already am."

The other Allies stood and began to disperse. Yao left the room quickly, while Ivan, Alfred, and Arthur slowly made their way to the two brothers.

"It's time to go, Ludwig," Arthur told them, and Francis noted that his voice had softened quite a bit.

Ludwig let out a pathetic wail and clung to Gilbert, gripping his shoulders. "Bruder, no! Tell them… them it was me! Fight them! Scream at them! Just don't let them do this!"

Gilbert gave him a sad smile and reached up to wipe the tears from his brother's face. "It's okay, West. You'll see. Everything will be fine."

"Gilbert, let's get going," Ivan said.

Gilbert nodded at the tall Russian before turning to Ludwig once more. "We need to go our separate ways, West," he stated softly. He glanced up at Francis and the blonde nodded once. "You're in good hands." Gilbert's eyes shown with gratitude; the Frenchman knew that the Prussian… _ex-nation_ trusted few others to look after his little brother.

Turning back to the tall blonde, Gilbert planted a loving kiss on his forehead, much as Francis had done to Gilbert all those nights ago. He then stood up, gently prying Ludwig's hands from himself, and walked to Ivan. He smirked up at him.

"Let's get going, fat ass," he sneered.

Ivan blinked, then grinned. He reached out to grip Gilbert's upper arm and led them out the door. Francis watched them until their footsteps faded.

Ludwig was sitting where his brother had left him, silently trying to pull himself together. Arthur cautiously approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"We should get going as well," he said.

Ludwig roughly rolled his shoulder. He stood, wiped his face one last time, and, head held high, made his way to the door. He went down the opposite hall from Gilbert, Alfred following quickly behind. Arthur turned to Francis, who was still sitting at the long table.

"Are you coming?" he asked, voice soft.

"Oui," Francis replied. He shuffled some papers on the table absently. "There's a few things Go ahead without me. I'll catch up."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, Francis purposely avoiding eye contact, before turning and following Ludwig and Alfred.

Francis waited until he was sure that he was alone before he slumped over the table, hands covering his face. He let the tears fall.

How was he supposed to tell Antonio? What would the Italian brothers think? And Elizaveta and Roderich?

He had just sentenced his best friend to death.

As the room was slowly enveloped in darkness, Francis' shoulders shook, his quiet sobs echoing off the empty room.


End file.
